


Brighter Days

by Solar_Sylvilagus



Series: Please Don't Break The Characters [2]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Maxwell needs to clean up his language around the kids, Maxwell's redemption arc is coming and none of you can stop it, Maxwell?? A good uncle??? in my fanfiction?????, More Fun Facts For You, also sneakers were invented after Maxwell got dragged into a hell dimension, also the word fuck is used once and i don't think that warrants a teen rating?, and once again, he's also as strong as soggy cardboard so he stays in camp, he's trying, it's more likely than you think, no beta reader we die like FOOLS, so he has no idea what they are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 02:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17174138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solar_Sylvilagus/pseuds/Solar_Sylvilagus
Summary: Maxwell's actually a decent guy.





	Brighter Days

**Author's Note:**

> I was tossing ideas around on Discord a while back about Maxwell ending up as the Camp Babysitter due to being as strong as soggy cardboard. I also love the idea of Maxwell being good with kids and having had a bigger part in his nieces lives.

Glaring at the back of Wolfgang’s head was accomplishing nothing in the direction of making him leave, but it did make Maxwell feel just a tiny bit better. Having someone staying at camp to… to babysit him was insulting at the very best. But so far, he’d kept any complaints to himself. Because as much as he despised admitting it, it was probably a necessary measure given he was not the only one staying behind.

Maxwell babysat the children, and Wolfgang babysat Maxwell. Maxwell having been reluctantly chosen as the babysitter due to being Wendy’s only present living relative and the fact he was also the only one with experience caring for children due to aforementioned family-ties.

The fact Webber had taken to him like a duck to water also helped seal the deal.

Small claw-hands had added tiny nick to the collection of other injuries to his formally dapper suit, the young arachnid having taken to clinging to his pant-leg shortly after meeting him. The child had been distraught when the group had first found him, sobbing hysterically after a spider had been dispatched by Wigfrid.

And maybe Maxwell wasn’t an emotionless demon as he wished he was. Maybe the sobbing child hit a nerve. Maybe it reminded him of Before.

Abigail had cried herself sick when that mangy old cat got run down by a car.

* * *

 

“Mr. Carter! Can you tie our shoes?”

Where was Charlie even getting these clothes? It made him wonder just how long he’d been gone, given the odd clothing that would sometimes appear. The odd rubber-soled shoes were something he’d never seen before, but there was no way he would ask the others about it.

In fact, it seemed he was the only one who questioned where the clothes came from.

Except Webber, who did so out of frustration. Confronted with buttons and zippers and laces that were not made for spider-hands had been one of the few times he’d seemed upset about his affliction. Though one of the many good qualities of the young man was his adaptability, and he’d soon re-mastered those lost skills.

Except for the laces on his shoes, which he had apparently yet to learn before he’d been whisked away to this hellish place. Something that made Maxwell’s stomach churn before he boxed away that emotion with all the other ones he didn’t like.

“You know you will have to learn to this for yourself at some point, right?” Double-knotting the laces was both a practical measure and a way of stalling for time before he’d have to stand up again. Spring had barely started but his body was already voicing complaints about the weather.

“Oh, we already know how!”

“What?”

“We know how! We just don’t see why we should do it when we have you to do it for us!”

* * *

 

Spools of thread sat in neat rows on the log beside him, an old shirt in his lap and a sewing needle in his hand. At some point, Maxwell had tried to think if he’d done this much sewing before in his life and soon ruled it unlikely. Since he was for the most part confined to camp without an escort, it had become a way to both pass time and contribute something.

And perhaps the methodical work was soothing as well, letting him zone out for a few moments of peace.

Which is why he was startled by looking up to see Wendy watching him intently. Startled enough to stab the sewing needle into his finger and spew a litany of swears before he could catch himself.

“What do those words mean?”

Jack was going to kill him. If they got home, Jack would break his neck for teaching his daughter to swear, especially after the several conversations they’d had about it. Maybe if it’d been in a life or death situation, he would’ve gotten away with it. Maybe.

“Don’t repeat them. Ever. Please.”

A suspicious squint was leveled at him, but for now she dropped the subject.

* * *

 

Two days later, Wendy was feeding the camp’s bird scraps of cooked monster meat when it bit her finger.

“Fuck!”

The bustle of the camp immediately died into silence, until Webber broke it.

“What’s that mean?”

* * *

 

Leftover meat stew filled the pot suspended above the fire, heating up slowly as Maxwell occasionally paused his ‘’reading’’ to stir. If he had the energy, he might have cooked something fresh, but the most recent hound attack had left them all exhausted.

Especially the weary little girl sitting against the wall, holding a pale flower in her hands.

Staring at the Codex was only done out of habit, his tired eyes unable to focus on the text no matter how he tried. And so, he found himself glancing over the propped-up book to his niece. As soon as the attack had finished, she’d took up a silent post near him, not addressing him but instead following him silently wherever he went.

Maxwell briefly found himself wishing Wendy was just a baby again. Jack’s wife had been ill when she’d had the twins, and so he’d ended up helping his brother care for them in the early days. It had been so much easier to know what to do, then. Because then he could just hold her in his arms and mutter soothing words and his very heartbeat would lull her.

After a moment of debate, he set the lid on the cooking pot and sat beside Wendy, placing an arm around her gently. For a second she stiffened, and he could see an all too familiar battle behind pale blue eyes.

Then she pressed herself into his side and bawled like she had as an infant, clutching her sister’s flower tightly.


End file.
